


a heart of hope

by darlingtimes



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, i swear it's a ship but, most of this iiis sakyo thinking about the troupe, set from before prologue to end of the roman episode, with timeskips in between
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingtimes/pseuds/darlingtimes
Summary: Matsukawa has always, always stuck with the company. Sakyo wishes he could say the same for himself.
Relationships: Furuichi Sakyo/Matsukawa Isuke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	a heart of hope

**Author's Note:**

> the title is so cheesy don't look at me but i hope you enjooy!

The first thought Sakyo had, looking at the scruffy boy hanging around the Mankai Theater, was _Oh, he’s like me_. Admiring the brightness of stage, the close-knit and welcoming family Yukio fostered, and with nowhere else to go.

Looking closer, the second thought he had was, _He’s nothing like me_.

Sakyo wasn’t one to talk, but Matsukawa’s clothes were in tatters. He had a terribly clumsy air about him, and he scarcely did anything right, spreading dust whenever he cleaned, dropping props whenever he worked backstage, burning food whenever he helped Zen in the kitchen.

None of that mattered, because the Mankai Company loved him anyway, and made him belong, the same way they did with Sakyo. The difference was, that lonely boy deserved that love and belonging.

Matsukawa laughed there with the company, friendly arms thrown around his shoulders, his helpless mistakes being made fun of, while Sakyo watched from the corner. He held onto his spot because he couldn’t let go, but he didn’t belong there. Not anymore, or maybe he never did—the both of them may have been scruffy kids, drawn to the light of the theater, but Sakyo didn’t deserve to spend carefree time with the troupe. The way he lived life—out of the limelight, doing whatever work he could for money—meant he didn’t deserve an extra drop of warmth that theater gave.

He couldn’t let go of that spot, but as time passed, guilt forced him to. So he didn’t come back to the company, an empty ache left in his heart, the bottom dusted with golden memories of the people he left there.

It would be a lie to say he never looked back, but he tried not to. It wasn’t very good trying at all; he was bound to look at the possible nominees of the Fleur Award, Mankai Company listed at the top as a promising newcomer. He glanced at the café menu with Yukio’s favorite dish on it, he borrowed playscripts from the library to rehearse on his own.

And then, he picked up the newspaper article reading, _Mankai Company Falls Apart_.

The director had gone missing just a short time ago. All the actors were leaving, too, in pursuit of other goals, and the company property was in jeopardy. The article was brief, because though the troupe was promising, it had no real merit to its name besides a nomination, and its renowned scriptwriter, Ikaruga Hakkaku.

A sinking feeling enveloped his stomach as he read the article. His golden memories would be blown to dust. But he quickly clamped down on his sentimentality and locked it up tight.

If he was going to do anything for the company that gave him hope as a child—which he wasn’t, he thought as he walked out the door towards the Mankai Company; he was just surveying an area soon to be under his jurisdiction—he couldn’t be wishy washy about it. Whatever problems that company led by a dreamer had wouldn’t be fixed with a “pretty please” to the landlord.




The front of the theater was empty and quiet, nothing like the bustle of a place he remembered. It was small, but its condition and location meant the price wouldn’t be something to scoff at; he’d have to make some strong points to convince the boss that buying it would be a good investment.

Setting his jaw, he was about to move on to the dorms, when he heard a loud crash and yelp from inside. Followed by some… Vaguely Japanese-sounding squawking. Sakyo couldn’t say he had a guess as to who was messing around in the theater, but unfortunately, he did recognize the bird noises from his time with the company.

He could just keep walking. He was already doing far more than he needed to, and if there was vandalism, the perpetrator could be dealt with in time.

But he stopped, turning back with a frown on his face to go see Kamekichi and whoever else was there.




Sakyo tried the front door first, though he knew a few back entrances. With a light push, the door swung open, unlocked. Already, the Mankai Theater was being treated with less care than an empty shop up for rent. Sighing, he entered the familiar building.

The lobby… It felt empty, but it was less empty than he expected. The squat little benches he used to wait on were still in the same place, and the poster frames still decorated the wall, although no posters were left.

Prompted by some more squawking—it had a berating tone to it, but he couldn’t make out the words—Sakyo shook his head and briskly moved on. The doors to the main chamber were just as unlocked as the front entrance.

He prepared to see pitch darkness, reaching for the small flashlight he kept in his coat, but instead, he was greeted with blinding stage lights. Blinking, Sakyo squinted at the stage ahead of him.

On it was a sopping wet man in a ratty suit, Kamekichi on his shoulder…? He sat in the center of the stage in a puddle, head downturned, a mop and a bucket fallen next to him. Sakyo presumed these were the source of the crashing noises.

Making his way down the aisle, Sakyo cleared his throat authoratively.

“What are you doing here? This is a closed piece of property.”

The scruffy man jerked his head up in shock, Kamekichi flapping about in surprise as he lost footing on the shoulder he was perched on.

His face was older, and rough stubble spotted his chin, but Sakyo recognized him. Matsukawa sat there in the middle of the stage, eyes wide and face dripping with water.

“We belong here! Just cleanin’ up, right, Manager?” squawked the pink bird, settling back on Matsukawa’s shoulder.

Snapping out of his daze, Matsukawa pushed up his glasses and bobbed his head vigorously. “Apologies, but the Mankai Theater is currently closed! I’m looking to get it back on its feet soon, when we have some more actors—oh, um? You are?”

Sakyo pressed his lips together, then answered, “Furuichi Sakyo. The business I belong to is looking to purchase this property.”

“What?! No, no, this property shouldn’t be purchasable, this theater belongs to the Mankai Company! Ah, but I’m afraid that we’re short on money, I was going to scrounge some up by—”

“Oh, if it ain’t the glasses kid!”

Kamekichi and Matsukawa exclaimed at the same time, and then Matsukawa whipped his head towards the bird with a “Wait, aren’t _I_ the glasses kid?!”

Sakyo breathed in slowly and brought a hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. It looked like dropping in here would take a lot longer than he expected.




After some scrambling about on Matsukawa’s part, Sakyo and Matsukawa ended up speaking in the audience seats about the company situation.

Kamekichi seemed to remember Sakyo, but after a withering look, said nothing more about the bespectacled kid in the corner. Matsukawa did not remember a thing, unsurprisingly.

“So you mean to uphold this theater, with no funds, and not even a job?”

“I’m, um, sure it’ll work out somehow! I actually do have some remaining money, but besides that, with enough publicity I can get more! See, I’ve been hanging up flyers and running a blog—”

Eyebrows knitted together in disapproval, Sakyo said, “ _Absolutely not._ There is no way you can hold onto a whole property with a flimsy, unreliable income like that, especially up against proper businesses looking to buy it.”

“B-but—”

“No buts. You oughta give up and move on. There’s nothing you can do against a more financially stable power.” Done criticizing Matsukawa’s decisions, Sakyo stood up and made to leave.

He made to leave, but as always, he couldn’t. Lured in by Kamekichi’s gentle squawks of reassurance and Matsukawa’s pitiable, hunched back in the corner of his eye, he stopped after two steps.

Suppressing a sigh, Sakyo turned back and reached into a pocket for a pen and a notepad. Gruffly, he jotted out a number and said, “When the property is bought, I will be overseeing it. We haven’t yet made plans for how it will be used, so… We would not be averse to allowing you a chance to rent it, or buy it back.” Holding out the paper to Matsukawa, he continued, “This is the phone number of one of our branches. They can help you with loans. Tell them Furuichi sent you.”

Matsukawa looked up, eyes wide and shiny, before taking the paper and breaking out into a grin. Before he could say a thing in return, Sakyo coldly strode down the aisle away from the man, heart squeezing the slightest bit. Try as he might, though, he didn’t make it out the door before hearing Matsukawa call out, “Thank you so much, Furuichi!”




Thanks for _what_ , exactly? In the end, it looked like Sakyo’s lent hand did nothing for the theater.

Sakyo set his jaw and called out, “Do it, Sakoda.” A few years and ten million yen in debt later, Matsukawa had made zero progress on getting the theater back on its feet, unless you counted some terrible, ramshackle stage performances with revenue from Matsukawa’s back pocket. He had the nerve to stand there, begging like his life depended on it for what must’ve been the thousandth time. And now, Sakyo had to take down the sign in front of Yukio’s daughter, of all people—though, she didn’t seem to remember or have any attachment to the place.

If Matsukawa wanted to make him feel like the bad guy, then he’d be the bad guy. The stone sitting in his stomach was nothing, because the Mankai Company never had a chance. _And I won’t be giving out even one more_ , he swore to himself.

Not a single chance more would be given out, he thought, but…

It all happened so fast. He humored Izumi when she said she was a guest—humored her, no chances being given out here. But then the humoring continued, until she agreed to help, and then he gave them some impossible task, which she accepted _and_ fulfilled, and before he knew it he was giving the Mankai Company one more chance with a few more impossible conditions.

Impossible with a stubborn Izumi Tachibana in the mix. If she was anything like that little brat he knew, and if she was anything like Yukio… Shaking his head, he left with Sakoda, ignoring Matsukawa’s childish jeers and excited jabbering behind him.

Sakyo’s heart squeezed again with something familiar that he didn’t dare name. Matsukawa had enough of it already; if Sakyo left it all to him, he could stay the cynical, money-grubbing yakuza with no expectations for the Mankai Company. 




Months passed, and the impossible turned on its head; the troupe grew to three sub-troupes, and Sakyo never would’ve thought he’d be a part of them, but here he was.

Sakyo stood on balcony alone, looking up at the sky, done with the Autumn Troupe’s afterparty for the night. So many things had fallen into place, and he almost felt like he had the right to look forwards. The road didn’t seem as rough as it was before, though they still had a long way to go.

“Fuuruuichii!” A slurred voice came up from behind him, and a hand clapped his back.

“Matsukawa.”

“So, whaddya doing out here? Done celebrating? We could party ‘til tomorrow though, _The Roman Episode_ was amaazing!” Matsukawa giggled, silly with drink and excitement.

Sakyo sighed and peeled Matsukawa’s arm off of his shoulder. “Honestly, all of you, celebrating like it’s all over… It’s not like we have that much time to let loose. There’s still one more troupe left to go, still a debt to pay.” He felt like a broken record at this point, thinking the same thing after every run, saying it out loud to the Director, and saying it again to Matsukawa.

“Mmm, but we’re doing so well!” Grinning, Matsukawa leaned against the railing next to Sakyo. “It’s getting so noisy and lively, it feels like the old days!”

“Really, now.”

“Yup!” Matsukawa sighed contently and leaned his cheek against his hand. Softly, he said, “I’m glad it’s working out.”

Sakyo inclined his head at the slightest angle in agreement. He straightened up from his spot from the railing and was about to bid the manager a good night, when Matsukawa spoke up again.

“Y’know, as ornery and cranky as you are, you’ve done a lot for the company. I don’t know if we could’ve gotten this far without you.” He turned to face Sakyo and smiled unreservedly. “Thanks, Furuichi.”

Sakyo opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say to the mellow words of gratitude. How much did Sakyo do to deserve those little words? They came from Matsukawa, the one that whined and called him stingy, the one who hardly had any qualifications as a manager, but most of all, the one who had stayed with the company for years, clinging to an unfounded hope until it came to fruition. Matsukawa was thanking him, not for the first time, even though Sakyo wasn’t the one who stuck through it all or dared to dream that the Mankai Company could ever come back.

Without him, Sakyo never would’ve even tried to get the business going again; in the first place, he only intended to make sure the property wasn’t sent to ruin. Without him, Sakyo would have never admitted to hoping his childhood haven could be more than an abandoned building, home to only ghosts of laughter.

Sakyo nodded his head and paused for a second before murmuring the words he had always wanted to say.

“I should be thanking you. You’re the one who gave the Mankai Company any hope.” _Me included_ , he thought, but there was a limit to what he’d say out loud. “Well, good night.”

Sakyo turned again to head to bed, and again, Matsukawa interrupted him, this time by grabbing his arm.

“Do you mean that?” he asked. His eyes were wide and sparkling, like a kid getting his first make-up set for Christmas. Matsukawa’s face split into a grin, and Sakyo’s stomach fluttered.

Clearing his throat and fighting the flush creeping up onto his cheeks, Sakyo replied curtly, “I didn’t lie.”

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Matsukawa was holding Sakyo’s hand in his. He squeezed it, flashing one last beaming grin, then nodded good night to Sakyo and left the balcony giddily, presumably to return to the party.

Sakyo let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and looked down at his hand, only to avert his gaze again. What was he, a schoolboy?

He shook his head, and took a moment to listen to the noisy voices downstairs before turning in for the night.

The liveliness really did remind him of nights with the original troupe, warm and rowdy. The difference now was that he felt like he belonged just as much as that scruffy, clumsy boy did.

A smile tugged at his lips as he left the balcony. It wasn’t so bad to have a little hope for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> sakyo, having a pining ol' crush in his head, no matter what ship he's in?? it's more likely than you think! also i do not know the timeline or even when kamekichi first appeared. but i did look up at what age parrots fully mature to see if kamekichi could remember sakyo (1-4 years, i believe he can)


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